On the morning of his girlfriend's half-birthday, Theodore Greenbaum woke up early to make scrambled eggs and French toast. Kathy was still dead asleep on the queen bed, completely unaware that, as of this morning, she was precisely twenty four and a half years old. The breakfast in bed would undoubtedly come as a great surprise, and Theo began to feel excited as he scanned the cluttered refrigerator for the carton of eggs. He hoped she wasn't still upset from the night before-- she had seemed very distant and vaguely bitter-- but strawberry light caught his eye through the sliding glass doors to the balcony, and as he met the red sun smiling over the horizon, he knew Kathy would brighten again soon.
        He cracked an egg over the plastic measuring cup, felt a twinge of anxiety, and glanced briefly over his shoulder. The maroon end-pillows were off the green fabric couch, on the rug and gaping up at the ceiling. Otherwise there was nothing that might suggest this quiet living room held any tension. All the ugliness was behind them now, or maybe he had just perceived it where there was none. He was always chiding himself for his negativity. He counted his own reflection among the most pessimistic people he'd ever met, as well as the least attractive. This latter opinion had been corroborated by his intelligent bathroom mirror, Jane, only the day before. As a joke he had said, “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” And Jane said, “Who, indeed?” rather smugly. Before he could think of a comeback, Jane had pulled up advertisements for a cosmetic surgeon, a hair salon, a hair regrowth product called “RainGain,” and a variety of make-up products by Neutrogina, and all the ads had blue, green, or purple arrows pointing to a different flaw in his reflection. The RainGain pointed to his widow’s peak, the salon pointed to the mop of brown hair he used to disguise the widow’s peak, the Neutrogina pointed to the blemishes and acne scars on his face, and the cosmetic surgeon— Dr. Barrow— pointed just about everywhere, including his penis, which seemed unnecessary because the penis at least was fine. Jane detected the movement of his eyes, and quickly produced an article over his chest titled AVERAGE PENIS SIZE: AROUND THE WORLD, the colon in the title being somewhat misleading, but the subtitle said: Theodore, you know what you’re working with, but how do you measure up with the rest of the planet? Strictly speaking: the global average is 5.5 inches, meaning you’re just above average, but did you know the average penis in Tanzania is nearly 8.1 inches?
        He scrolled down until he reached the big graph of all the major countries and their respective sizes. In accordance with the stereotype, all the top spots went to African countries, and all the bottom spots went to Asian countries. The United States was right in the middle at 5.7 inches, which made Theo almost exactly average. He wondered what the average here in New Orleans was, but he didn’t have to wonder for long because Jane drew new arrows that pointed to the graph. One said “New Orleans” and pointed to “5.8” and the other said: “You are here” and pointed to “5.6.” He wondered how he stacked up against other people 5’ 10” tall, but once again Jane foresaw this question and threw it up next to his head. He was average even for average people. Dr. Barrow reappeared on the screen, smiling and dressed in a white lab coat, and the plethora of purple arrows snaked their way back to Theo’s flaws.
        He cracked another egg. He and Kathy had gotten home from dinner around eleven o'clock and planned to hook up on the couch instead of the bed, both of them still drunk off the "lemon drops" Kathy kept ordering from the bar at Miguelito's. At the table they’d been talking over tacos, arguing rather, somewhat tensely about the poem Kathy had written called “Wolves.” It was a little pretentious for Theo’s taste, and sorely lacking in theme, but he tried his best not to project this sentiment. Even if he had, Kathy probably would have rejected the criticism. Theo only wrote rhyming children’s stories, not “real poetry,” and his only book “Marvin the Manatee” was proving hard to publish. He jokingly said she ought to consult the “Pocket I-Ching,” the Chinese “Book of Changes” he kept on the coffee table, but there was nothing ironic in the glare she gave in lieu of a reply. He remained cheery and positive. As far as he could remember, the only real criticism he had made of her dreadful poem was the use of the word “nurse” in the opening lines: Princesses who run with wolves nurse drinks for boys to love… He said the only way to “nurse a drink” is to let it suck on your nipple, but Kathy ignored the comment and said “Where the hell’s our lemon drops?” before returning to the bar. She said she wouldn't be caught dead waiting for a waitress, but it seemed like she also enjoyed talking to the bartender, who was this big, muscly white dude in a V-neck. He looked like he might be European, but it might have just been the V-neck giving off a euro-douche aura. Cracking another egg, Theo tasted the jealousy he had made sure not to express at Miguelito's, and once again he suppressed it with positive thinking. He loved to see Kathy happy, no matter the circumstance, and when she returned to the table laughing with another round of lemon drops, he couldn't help but smile too. The real trouble didn't begin until later.
        After the restaurant they caught a cab back to the Wellington Arms Condominium Complex, “The Wack" as they liked to call it, and rode the elevator up to the 13th floor. Theo lived in number 1345— a number which felt significant in some way, but obviously wasn't, except in so far as it signaled a specific room on a specific floor of The Wack. Kathy was acting bubbly and fun from the alcohol, so they made-out real lusty in the elevator. They were sucking lips and necks when the doors opened to let in some other white couple, athletic looking, who were heading to the top floor for a midnight swim. Theo was genuinely embarrassed-- he'd been tonguing the front of Kathy's neck when the doors went BING! but Kathy grinned the whole rest of the way up, relishing the snarky glances from the older couple, who were probably in their late twenties, which somehow added to Kathy's evident pride. As Theo led Kathy sheepishly onto the thirteenth floor, the other boyfriend called after them "have fun you two!" and a good laugh was had by all.
        They turned left down the corridor and after a few steps Kathy said "Ted-eeeeeee!" with mock despair.
        "Wha-uhhhhht?" He said back laughing.
        "They were cute."
        "Haha," Teddy had said. "I guess they were." It seemed like Kathy was implying something-- that foreign cuteness was an affront to their own, perhaps, or maybe that he ought to be taking more extreme measures to optimize their cuteness. Kathy was the cutest girl on Earth, so if there was a cuteness problem it could only be coming from him. They walked the length of the hallway in the privacy of their minds, Theo watching the room numbers pass by on his right-- 1333, 1335, 1337--- and it randomly occurred to him that Kathy's birthday was almost exactly six months away. This was a golden opportunity to optimize their cuteness. He swiped the keycard to 1345, and decided at that moment to make her breakfast in bed.
        He cracked another egg. The measuring cup was at around a cup and a half, just under half full. It would do. He closed the carton of eggs, left it on the counter as he took the eggshells in a paper towel to the trash can. He stepped on the lever to lift the lid, then poured the shells in and away like Humpty Dumpty bones, never to be gathered together again. What a morbid thought! he thought, turning to face the stove. Oh, don’t be so childish, he countered, flipping the burner to simmer, then he grabbed the carton of eggs and continued to the fridge. He opened the door, put the eggs on the top shelf next to a black takeout-box of last week’s Miguelito’s, and grabbed some Crystal hot sauce from the inside of the door. He let the door close on its own, and he returned to the stove and his half full measuring cup of egg yolks. He raised the cloudy, white cup, peered in at it, and pictured Humpty Dumpty again. ”Look how they massacred my boy,” he mumbled, then he poured the yellow guts onto the frying pan, which hissed its disapproval. He grabbed the spatula and started stirring things around, thinking Humpty Dumpty might make a good character for his next children's book. It would be a harrowing tale of redemption and hope in the face of adversity. All the King's horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty back together again until surprise help arrives in the form of a cat who likes to push things off walls but is good at jigsaw puzzles and a child who eats paste, and as a community everyone comes together to save Humpty, who swears in the heartwarming denouement to give up his life of sitting on walls, go to college, and pursue a career as an actuary. The sizzling was growing louder and the yolk was turning viscous and yellow. He stirred some more.
        When he and Kathy got back to the apartment everything had seemed fine, more or less. There had been the "cuteness" comment and a thin wave of hurt feelings, but otherwise everything was A-okay. The Miguelito's tacos had been better than last week's and the lemon drops had done their job admirably. The concerns slipped into the back of his mind, and within moments Kathy had slipped out of her skirt, thrown her purse to the floor, and pushed Theo down onto the couch. This would be a full intensity round, and with the lemon drops in his system he played along hungrily. They fucked in the darkness, and he imagined he was filming a porno with his eyes. Usually he concerned himself with coming early and leaving Kathy disappointed, but this time he was elatedly cocksure, and with every stroke Kathy writhed beneath him, crying in pleasure. All that would have been pretty nice, pretty swell, if any of it had actually happened. Theo had started to kiss Kathy in front of the couch, but she pulled away and told him "wait a minute while I powder my nose," then she clopped like a deer in her highheels toward the bathroom, already digging into that awful brown purse of hers, which had hung from her shoulder unceasingly over the last four hours. "Powder my nose," of course, was an inside joke for "snort Katharax," but it was becoming less and less of a joke, and more and more of a serious addiction. She’d blacked out the last four nights running. The irony of a girl named Kathy becoming addicted to Kathies was not lost on anyone, and least of all Theo, who often imagined that Kathy was snorting her life away, chunks of herself vanishing up one nostril or the other. He waited on the couch, listening to her knock things around in the bathroom. A drawer opened and closed, Kathy said "shit", something that might have been lipstick fell into what had to have been the sink. Jane said, “Hello, Katherine, you’re looking lovely this evening. Your eyes look a little baggy, however. Can I interest you in any of these new mascaras by Neutrogina?” Another drawer opened and closed— harder this time. A short pause. SISSSSSSSSSSHHHHH like a teacher shushing children, ripping paper, and sizzling eggs all at once.
        The eggs were burning as Kathy staggered back into the living room. Theo didn’t notice the eggs. He was staring at Kathy, Kathy who was dabbing at her nose in the bedroom doorway, silhouetted by the yellow bathroom light behind her.
        “Is your nose bleeding?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation.
        “No.” Her tone said yes. She was facing him dreamily, her eyes gazing blindly past him, somewhere above or behind him. “I’m reeeally tired, though…” she said in a slow, sleep-walking drawl. She said nothing else, just turned around slowly and stepped lifelessly toward the bed. The kleenex fell from her hand and for a half-moment the blood it held glinted in the yellow light. The kleenex touched the ground noiselessly and vanished in the shadow. Kathy disappeared behind the doorframe and crawled slowly into bed. Theo sat there looking over his shoulder at the doorway, wondering sadly what she was dreaming, if anything, and he stayed that way for at least a minute before he finally turned back around toward the coffee table and dormant television. He knocked the end pillows onto the ground, lay down on the couch, and stared at the Arabesque vines on the rug until the darkness became teal in the early morning light. He wasn’t sure if he had slept. He smelled smoke.
        The eggs were burning. They were brown on the verge of black, and there were gray wisps whipping around above the pan. He cut off the gas and used the spatula to flip the eggs. The underside was black. “Dag Nabbit,” he lamented. He wanted to cry, but he never took the Lord’s name in vain, even in times like these when everything seemed to be going wrong.
        “What’s wrong?” came Kathy’s voice from behind him. He whipped around startled and there she was, hovering like a ghost in the doorway again, a thin ring of blood still caked around her left nostril. “And what’s that smell?”
        “Well,” he said with a sigh, “I was going to cook you breakfast in bed, but I just burned the scrambled eggs, and I haven’t even started the French Toast.”
        “Oh,” she said. She began to wander toward the couch. “I didn’t know you could burn scrambled eggs.” She stood for a moment in front of the couch as if trying to remember something. She gave up and sat down. Robotically she said, “Can I have a glass of water?” knowing full well Theo would have it ready in moments. She said POWER ON to the TV.
        Theo pulled a tall glass out of the cabinet over the stove. He said, “It’s your half-birthday, you know,” as he leaned over the sink to fill the glass, hoping to earn some cuteness points for being so thoughtful.
        “Oh. Is it?” The TV had flickered on and Kathy was miles away again.
        “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. Unless I counted wrong.”
        “Hmm,” she offered. “You probably counted wrong.”
        At least she had said something. He took the pan off of the burner and walked it over to the trash. He stepped on the lever again, and dumped the burned yolks in with the shells. He put the pan back on the stove then grabbed the glass off the counter and walked over to the couch. “Scooch,” he said as playfully as he could, then he sat down on her right. He put the glass on the coffee table.
        The news was on. CNBC.
        “Motorists in Alabama were treated to a bizarre sight today, as law enforcement officials and inmates of Montgomery Federal Prison led more than five-hundred goats along I-85 in an effort to fight the growing Kudzu problem. Kudzu, an invasive vine species native to Japan, can spread at a rate of 150,000 acres a year, choking and smothering other plants and trees, and causing millions of dollars in power line damage across the country. In some cases, a single Kudzu plant can extend for several miles. Remarkably, the five-hundred goats were able to clear several miles of interstate in only one afternoon. You go goats!”
        “Thank you, Sally. Turning now to climate change… The results are in, and NASA is reporting that 2027 was the hottest year on record, making it the twenty-fifth consecutive record-breaking year. After the break, we’ll be speaking with senior geoengineer Dr. Toby Bronson, about his controversial plan to use airplanes to fight global warming. Stick around, America, we’ll be right back.”
        YOU ARE WATCHING THE COMCAST NATIONAL BROADCASTING CHANNEL. STAY TUNED FOR MORE BREAKING NEWS.
        Finally Theo had a chance to speak. “I’m surprised to see you up so early,” he said to Kathy’s profile. “That line last night seemed like a doozy.”
        Her head and eyes were riveted firmly to the television, where twelve cartoon rabbits were holding hands and singing about toilet paper. She said, “I don’t know. I think we have bats.”
        “Bats? Like with wings?”
        “Yeah, in the walls. I hear them squeak sometimes. It woke me up.”
        “Huh,” he uttered back dumbly. There weren’t any bats in the walls, but he didn’t want to start an argument. “I guess we’ll have to stop calling it “The Wack” then, and start calling it Wayne Manor. He grinned at the side of Kathy’s face, but she said nothing and gave no hint of a smile. Her fleshy features looked soft and serious, but empty in a way. Still, like the water in the glass. Her brown irises were like two bulging magnets, each drawn into the flashing current of light.
        “Hey kids! It's me! Frederick!”
        A creepy, child-sized animatronic doll was on the screen now, smirking maniacally and tugging at the straps of his blue jean overalls.
        Introducing Frederick, the toy that REALLY loves you! Using state of the art technology, Frederick can learn your name, obey commands, even offer you advice!
        “Hey, Frederick! Do you know where I left my sunglasses?”
        “Yes, I do, Donna! Your sunglasses are on the kitchen table, right next to the newspaper."
        “Wow! There they are!”
        “Just doing my job, Donna.”
        Amazing! But that's not all! Frederick is the first toy EVER that can actually THINK and FEEL! Treat Frederick well— he’ll grow to love you! Don't be mean, though! Frederick remembers!
        “Hey, Frederick! You're a jerk.”
        “I have a hit-list, junior. And you’re on it.”
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        But that's not all! Frederick stays up all night long, recharging himself automatically! There's almost NOTHING he can't do!
        Buy Frederick now at Walmart or Amazon.com and get ten percent off, only six ninety-nine ninety-five plus tax and shipping handling! You won't regret it!
        “Bye, kids! Hope to see you soon!”
        “Jesus,” Theo said, looking over again at Kathy, who was anxiously twirling strands of brown hair around her finger. The image of Frederick's soft rubber smile and big, vacant eyes seemed to linger on the screen of his vision. “That's a children's toy?”
        “I think he’s cute,” she said, matter-of-factly.
        “You think everything’s cute.” The reply held an ounce of spite, but he left it at that. Another commercial was on now. He knew it was a Mind Leap commercial because he recognized the gruff-bearded CEO, Roger Florian, who was standing against a white background about to address the camera.
        “Hi— I’m Roger Florian, CEO of Mind Leap…” A little green bar appeared at the bottom of the screen, reading:

        “…Valentine’s Day is your chance to show that special someone how much you love them. Looking to put the spark back into your relationship? Tired of looking at the same old you? I’m here to tell you that February 1st through 16th we’ll be offering an incredible half-off deal for couples. That’s right— if you and a partner sign up before February 16th, you’ll save three-hundred dollars on your leap!”
        As he spoke, a variety of Vessels, men and women, came streaming in from the edges of the screen, beaming white teeth and filling up the space alongside Roger. They came in all shapes, sizes, and colors, but all of them wore purple jumpsuits, and all of them were sexy, happy, and intelligent-looking.
        “Of course, you don’t have to be lovers to take advantage of this deal! Ask a friend or a family member, or sign yourself up twice! That’s right! Show yourself some love— because singles are buy-one-get-one-free through the 16th! Call the number at the bottom of your screen or go to Mind Leap dot com to sign up today— before its too late. Thanks for listening, folks, and…” Florian raised his arms like a maestro and the whole giddy choir of Vessels yelled “WE HOPE YOU TAKE THE LEAP!”
        Before Theo could express his disgust for Roger Florian and this new, overtly sexual advertising strategy, Kathy had turned toward him with a light in her eyes he hadn’t seen in years, biting her plump bottom lip like red fruit.
        Dread spread like a blood drop hitting water. “You want to do that?” he asked, trying to mask his concern.
        “Can we?” she pleaded. The desire in her face and her voice was so sincere. Like a child begging for ice cream. He was glad to see her excited over anything, even if it was something he thoroughly despised, like Mind Leap.
        “I don’t know,” he said. “You certainly can, and I’ll pay for it, but you know how I feel about that stuff. It’s creepy.”
        “I hate you,” she said jokingly, as she often did, but like the “powder my nose” joke it seemed to have lost its irony. Her face was reddening to match the blood crust beneath her nose.
        “Dag Nabbit,” Theo announced, resigning. “Fine. If that’s really, really what you want, I’ll sign us up for the 14th.”
        “Really? Oh Theo! I love you I love you I love you!”
        “Don’t mention it” he said and leaned in to accept her kisses. He ignored the crusted blood when it touched his skin. The TV was droning on about the dangers of cigarettes, as if people weren’t already aware, and the room still smelt of burnt eggs. As he tugged her bottom lip he thought “I really ought to consult the I-Ching about this Mind Leap business,” but moving down to her neck he saw the sun was up over the contrails now, the night was behind them, and the half-birthday girl had brightened at last. He kissed her again with all his heart, clinging to her like one wrong touch could bring it all tumbling down.
        “Just relax, babe,” Kathy whispered in her pleasure voice, catching him by surprise as she slithered down between his legs. “Everything is going to be juuuuust fine…”

Cover Photo: Image Source